O'er ice and snow the huskies go,
Beneath the northern star,
And gather toll, a scanty dole,
To pay the god of war.
From out the States go mighty freights
Of cotton, corn and oil;
From West to East, to feed the beast,
The people save and toil.
The West's astir, the binders whirr
Around the settler's shack;
The threshers hum, lest winter come
Before the wheat's in sack.
The bullocks strain on loaded wain,
Piled high with bales of wool,
A season's clip from shed to ship;
The cargo must be full.
The drivers swear, the bulls by pair
Plunge panting through the dust,
Like things accurst they die of thirst
The war gods say they must.
Where battle fields dread harvests yield
The war god's revels be,
Where blood runs red, he counts the dead,
And shrieks and howls in glee.
With fiendish laughs, he fiercely quaffs
The precious crimson tide;
He'll drink his fill, nor rest until
His blood lust's satisfied.
MOTES AND BEAMS
We condemn, with hot curses, the Hun
For his piracy, perjury, pride,
For his nameless atrocities done,
For the ten million victims that died.
Then we'll lift holy hands to the skies,
When the day of our victory comes,
While pale children, with piteous cries,
Starve for bread in the slime of our slums.